


Too Quiche, Too Furious

by Dracothelizard



Category: Vet Hard
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Quiches, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracothelizard/pseuds/Dracothelizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've seen Vet Hard/Too Fat, Too Furious, and it is obvious that Peter and Martin are totally a gay couple just trying to run a restaurant together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Quiche, Too Furious

“How are we gonna tell Benny?”

“How are we going to tell Benny what?” Peter asked, eyes firmly on the quiche in the oven. Leek, carrot and some nice Gouda cheese, this one was going to be delicious.

“About, you know...”

Peter looked up at Martin, and Martin made a significant gesture at the two of them, and the kitchen around them. “That we re-modelled the kitchen of his chip shop?”

Martin sighed. “No! Although...” He glanced around, at the vegetables and herbs. Those definitely hadn’t been here five years ago when Benny had gone to prison and left the two of them in charge. “He’s not going to like it.”

Peter smiled, getting up. “That’s why we’re going to tell him _after_ he’s tried one of my quiches.”

Martin still didn’t share Peter’s optimism. “You know how he feels about chips and deep-fried food,” he said. “He’s very traditional like that.”

“He’ll like it. He’ll appreciate we did such a good job,” Peter insisted. “I mean, I did a cooking course and everything.”

Martin nodded slowly. “And people do like our quiches.” He leaned into Peter, who rubbed his arm. “I don’t know, though. He’s been in prison for five years.”

“It’ll be fine.” Peter pressed a kiss against Martin’s temple. “Stop worrying.

Martin sighed, and played with the golden band around his ring finger. “If you say so.”

***

The next few days were chaotic and ridiculous and Martin still wasn’t sure how they managed to break someone out of prison, steal an ambulance to get into Schiphol Airport and almost get the cash from a money transport without dying or getting arrested. All he and Peter knew was that Benny’s adoptive father needed them, and so he and Peter had done what they could, even if that meant missing out on the quiche-baking contest.

“You could’ve won, you know. Quiche of the Year,” he told Peter, as they sat by the side of the road, still in their ambulance driver gear.

Peter smiled wanly. “I really don’t think so,” he muttered. A hundred yards down the road, the ambulance with Benny’s adoptive dad inside was still burning. “But thanks.”

Martin leaned back to look at the police officers, who were as dumbfounded by the whole thing as they were. “You think we’re gonna be arrested?”

Peter’s smile faded. “God, I hope not. We’d have to close the restaurant for _days_.

Martin reached out to rub Peter’s back soothingly. “I’m sure it won’t come to that,” he said, although he wasn’t really sure. Benny and police officers didn’t mix, and he and Peter _were_ involved, after all.

***

A few days later, in the kitchen of what was technically Benny’s chip shop, Benny glared at them when Martin suggested they bake Katja a nice quiche lorraine to win her over so she would forgive Koen for lying to her. Koen had looked interested enough, but then Benny had hit him over the head and told him to simply bring a bunch of flowers instead.

As Benny was shouting at Koen, Martin leaned closer to Peter. “You can bake me a quiche lorraine.”

Peter smiled at him. “With some mozzarella on top?”

Martin let out a happy noise, and rested his chin on Peter’s shoulder as Koen shoved at Benny. “That could work.”

They watched as Benny convinced Koen that flowers were the better idea. It took some time and shouting. “I have told you lately that I’m glad I married you, right?” Peter remarked.

Martin squeezed Peter’s thigh. “Yeah, you have.” He grinned. “Although you haven’t been very vocal lately.”

Peter flushed as he pushed Martin’s hand aside. They still hadn’t told Benny about the whole ‘being married’ thing. “Let’s deal with Koen and Katja first,” he muttered.

Benny hit Koen over the head with a frying pan, and Koen groaned as he sank to the floor.

“We’re definitely dealing with them first,” Peter said, as Martin hopped off the counter to check on Koen.

***

Martin patted Benny on the shoulder as he watched Koen and Katja cut their wedding cake. Martin wasn’t entirely surprised that they had gone for cherry flavour with plenty of sticky, fluid red filling. “Your dad would’ve been proud,” Martin said.

“He would, he would’ve liked Katja too.” Benny said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I just wish he could’ve been here to see it.”

They remained silent for a moment, the two of them remembering Benny’s adoptive father fondly as Katja and Koen fed each other cake.

“What about you, then?” Benny suddenly asked.

“What about me?” Martin asked, thinking that a quiche would’ve been better for a wedding. Peter would know how to make a nice one, maybe with apple and cinnamon and raisins.

“When are you gonna settle down with some nice woman?”

“Uhm,” Martin managed, and glanced at Peter, who had gone to get a piece of wedding cake, and who was holding two plates with forks on them. “That’s sort of already taken care of,” he said quietly.

Benny followed his gaze to look at Peter. “Really?” he asked, then frowned at Martin.

Martin smiled as Peter waited patiently for Katja to cut off two slices of cake for him. “Yes,” he said.

“Huh,” said Benny, still frowning slightly and looking at Peter, who was walking over to them. “Oh. Right. I see.”

“Personally I would’ve gone for strawberry,” Peter said, handing Martin the other plate along with the fork. “It goes better with the cream filling.”

“I bet,” Benny muttered, who wandered over to get his own slice of the wedding cake.

Peter shot Martin a worried look over his glasses. “Did you tell him?”

“Sort of,” Martin replied, stabbing the cake with his fork and trying a piece. “This is delicious.”

Peter frowned, looking vaguely insulted. “It’s all right.”

Martin smiled. “We can’t all have quiches at our wedding reception, Peter.”

“I’m only saying, the one I did with spinach and mushrooms and sour cream was amazing.”

“It was, Peter.”

“And even your mother liked the one I made with the cheese crust and tomato filling with the feta on top.”

“She did, Peter.”

“Three different kinds of tomato even, with chives.”

Martin leaned in to kiss Peter, partly because he wanted to, partly to shut him up. “Enjoy your cake, love.”

Peter, his cheeks now faintly pink, remained quiet and used his fork to cut off a piece of his slice of cake. “Fine.”

Benny pulled a face as he settled back down next to them. “You could’ve told me sooner,” he said, looking grumpy, “that the two of you were, you know.” He made a limp-wristed hand gesture that had Martin snorting into his cake.

“We’re married,” Peter pointed out, frowning slightly.

Benny groaned at that. “Seriously?”

Martin shrugged. “It got legalised about year after you were in prison.” He smiled at Peter. “And after a few years, we figured, why not.”

“Which one of you wore the dress?” Benny asked, then cried out when Martin stabbed him in the arm with his fork. “Hey!”

“It actually has a lot of benefits when it comes to taxes and co-owning a restaurant,” Peter said, smirking slightly.

“It’s a fucking chip shop,” Benny replied, shifting away from Martin and rubbing his arm where Martin had stabbed him.

“Yes, but it’s a chip shop with the best quiches in the city,” Martin told him firmly.

Benny glanced at Peter. “Do the quiches sell?”

“Well enough,” Peter said, smiling brightly.

Benny looked at the two of them, then sighed. “Fine, you two can bake and sell your fucking quiches, but we’re still a chip shop, yeah?”

Martin looked at Peter, and shrugged. “Fine with me.”

Peter sighed, looking slightly pained. “I suppose.”

Martin kissed his cheek, then reached to rub Peter’s back soothingly. “You’ll win Quiche of the Year next year, love. Next year.”

Benny shook his head, and scoffed. “You’re both idiots.”

“We still kept your chip shop open for business,” Peter reminded him. “For over five years.”

Benny’s glare softened. “Can you make a quiche in honour of my dad?”

Martin looked Peter, who was clearly already thinking of ingredients and combinations that would suit the stubborn older man. “I think we can manage that,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry, Benny, we’ll make something worthy of him.” It was the least they could do. Something with liverwurst, maybe.  


End file.
